


Meteoric

by zukos



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, M/M, No Spoilers, scientifically inaccurate astronomy, sounds like it should be smutty but honestly it's just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 03:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9473132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zukos/pseuds/zukos
Summary: It doesn't matter how good-looking the son of Aphrodite thinks he is. Keith isn't going to sleep with Lance. Ever.





	

“Hey.”

Keith looks up from his book, looks down again, looks up. He wonders if one of the chestnuts in the tree he’s sitting against fell in the last hour or so and hit him too hard on the head (it wouldn’t be the first time). But, no, the person standing in front of him is definitely _Lance—_ as in cabin 10 counsellor Lance—from the self-assured tilt of his head to the faint glow that all the Aphrodite kids seem to radiate. He’s positioned himself perfectly in relation to the setting sun so that the light is incredibly flattering, casting his tan skin in dozens of shades of gold, and his smile is tilted just the right amount to the left so that it looks confident without being threatening.

“Hey,” Lance says again, when he doesn’t get a response.

Keith sighs, closes his book, and raises an eyebrow at him. Him and Lance have never really had a proper conversation, which has always been a blessing, really, considering how obnoxious the other Aphrodite kids had been once he they had deemed him an ‘official bad-boy’ and took that as an invitation to bug him incessantly for weeks. Lance has that cabin 10 attitude that has always put Keith off any interaction whatsoever, even though Pidge and Hunk spend time with him on occasion (no surprise on Hunk’s part; Aphrodite kids are an inexhaustible supply of heart-shaped boxes of chocolate).

The silence stretches for another awkward few seconds, and then Lance clears his throat and squares his shoulders. “So,” he says, “what’re you reading?”

Keith’s already-raised eyebrow reaches terminal velocity. “A book.”

And then Lance _laughs,_ as if that were supposed to be a joke and not a veiled instruction to leave Keith alone. The laughter sounds like bells or angel choruses or some shit, because of course it does.  Keith tries to look back at the book, but Lance’s smile has now stretched even wider and he’s momentarily distracted by how straight his teeth are. That must be a son-of-Aphrodite thing, surely. No one has that canine-to-gum ratio naturally.

Keith only has a moment to reflect on the worrying fact that he’s thinking about his _teeth_ before Lance starts speaking again. “ _The New Cosmos_?” he asks, tilting his head to read the book’s cover.

“I like astronomy.” Lance smiles as if that’s somehow endearing, and Keith feels his irritation building up in the base of his gut. “Did you want something?”

 “Yeah, I was wondering, actually… how come we never talk?” Lance says, running his hand casually-but-not-casually through his hair, which falls back in the exact same position as before, “I mean, you’ve been here as long as I have, right? We should hang out sometime.”

Keith wonders if he could get up and leave now without having one of Lance’s fan-club attempt retribution for his rudeness. There’s one girl from the Hecate cabin who hangs around the Aphrodite kids a lot and could probably turn Keith into a duck with worrying ease. Instead, he shrugs and responds in the flattest voice possible. “I’m not really interested in making friends.”

That seems to have the opposite effect than the one intended. Lance looks momentarily conflicted, but then his expression turns into a smirk, and he crouches down on the balls of his feet so that their faces are level. Their gazes meet in such a way that it’s very difficult to look anywhere else other than his (obnoxiously) blue eyes. When he speaks his voice has taken a sort of purring quality that Keith feels in his toes. “Oh, good,” he says, “neither am I.”

_Oh._

Keith shouldn’t really be shocked. He’s not ugly, and Lance isn’t known to be particularly discriminatory in his preferences. Maybe the whole ‘bad-boy’ thing has made a resurgence. Still, there’s something particularly unsettling about their proximity that makes it difficult for him to respond, and instead he just opens and closes his mouth several times like a goldfish.

Lance’s eyes lose their predatory quality and he rocks back on his heels, wearing a satisfied expression. “So…” he asks, when it’s clear that Keith is unable to formulate speech properly, “what do you think?”

What Keith thinks is, _no, absolutely not, no way, leave me alone so I can lock myself in my cabin or hide in Hades for a few days, and you can forget about this and go smile like that at some blond Apollo kid instead._

What Keith says is, “Th-think about—how—it—what?”

“Y’know. Me. You,” he winks. “Play a bit of… Lance-Lance revolution together—”

“ _Lance-Lance—_ ”

“—cosy up under some blankets, watch the sunrise. The Hephaestus kids hooked us up with this amazing portable heater, and there’s this spot on the beach—”

“I hardly know you,” Keith finally manages, although it’s squeakier than he was aiming for.

“So, get to know me.”

“ _I_ _don’t want to have sex with you._ ”

“What? But…” Lance frowns. “What?”

“I’m not interested!”

“But… you’re attracted to me,” he whines, collapsing down into a seated position, “I can tell. Demigod, remember? I can’t make zombies or fart ghosts or whatever like you can, but I can _tell._ When we were doing sword practice the other day—”

Keith has to cut him off there. Okay, yes, maybe he had been checking out sweaty post-workout Lance, in the same way that he tended to check out most attractive boys in tight damp shirts, but doesn’t mean he’s ready to hop into bed with him. It’s an aesthetic appreciation, like looking at a sunset—and that just makes him think about portable heaters on a beach and ‘Lance-Lance Revolution’. This conversation needs to stop. Now. “I hardly know you. I’m not going to have sex with you. End of story,” he says, and then he has to add, “Fart ghosts? Seriously?”

Lance pouts. “I don’t get it,” he says, “I’m hot, you’re hot—even with the mullet, and that’s impressive—you’re not dating anyone, I’m not dating anyone… Pidge said you’d be interested, so…”

Keith is never going to speak to Pidge again. She is dead to him. Deader than the ghost of Mithridates he summoned that one time when he needed to ace his Greek history final.

“I’m not interested,” he hisses, shoving his book in his bag and standing up as fast as possible, “I’m just… not, okay? No way.”

Lance looks up at him with wide eyes. “I… yeah, sorry,” he says, visibly deflated, and he sighs loudly, leaning further back on his hands. His shirt rides up, revealing a tan strip of stomach and a light sprinkling of brown hair. When Keith finally manages to look away from the bare skin to Lance’s face, he’s wearing that infuriating smirk again.

“Fine, good,” says Keith, and he turns away from the boy in the shade of the tree, stomping as quickly as possible toward the rest of the camp. He can feel his face burning. _Gods,_ he thinks, _please, please let me forget that ever happened. Somehow. Please._

***

Obviously, he doesn’t forget about it within the two hours before he has to be at the dining pavilion for dinner, and when he shows up half of the camp are present to witness the expression of supreme discomfort that is now permanently affixed to his face. When he sits down Shiro is already at the table, tucking into a bowl of chilli. He gives the younger boy a concerned look.

“You look like you just swallowed a lemon,” he says, putting down his spoon. It’s just the two of them there, as always—Shiro should technically be by himself at the Zeus table, but everyone seems to pity the two of them for being without any siblings and lets them sit together at mealtimes. Or, at least, they want someone responsible to keep an eye on Keith, who has been known in moments of supreme boredom to summon skeletons and make them do cheerleading routines.

Instead of replying he just scowls at his goblet. “Vodka,” he says to it, out of spite. It fills with diet coke. He takes a sip anyway and shoves his fork savagely into his lasagna.

Shiro sighs. “That’s pasta, Keith, not a Fury. Seriously, what’s wrong?”

Keith strongly considers not telling him, but then again, talking to Shiro when things are going wrong is mostly how he’s been able to be here this long without accidentally murdering the rest of the camp in his sleep. And, on a more personal level, Keith wants to talk about it, because it shouldn’t be bugging him this much that a hot guy asked to sleep with him. Keith can’t even tell himself why he’s this upset. Sure, he was stubborn about it, but Lance accepted the rejection eventually, and looking over at the Aphrodite table—which Keith has an annoyingly clear view of—he seems to be totally unaffected by it. The demigod is narrating something to the rest of the group, who are looking at him rapt while he sweeps his arms around dramatically. He says something which must have been particularly funny, as they all fall into rapturous laughter, filling the dining hall with it and causing some of the other demigods to smile reflexively.

Keith has a moment of panic—what if Lance is telling them about him? What if he’s making fun of his awkwardness? Normally he wouldn’t care but he’s really, really not in the mood for the rest of cabin 10 to start teasing him again. From this distance, he can’t hear exactly what’s being said, but he leans forwards and tries to read Lance’s lips. No good, although maybe if he looks a little longer…

Shiro follows his gaze. “The Aphrodite kids?” he asks. His voice darkens slightly. “Are they following you around again? I can talk to Lance about it, he’s pretty good at controlling them, actually—”

“ _Don’t,_ ” says Keith, wincing afterwards at the desperation in his tone. He lowers his voice, forcing Shiro to lean towards him, even though no one would be able to hear them regardless. “Actually, that’s kind of why… Lance…”

“Lance?”

“He…” Keith rubs at the back of his neck. “He asked me to… well,” and, falling to a whisper, he says, “he wants to sleep with me.”

Shiro blinks at him for a few seconds before letting out a large bark of laughter. Keith flinches and leans back in his chair, giving him the iciest stare he can muster, but it seems to have no effect. Shiro takes a few large gulps of his drink to hide his continuing chuckles. Once he’s done he tries to smooth his face into blankness, but there’s still the occasional twitch in the sides of his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he says, and his tone is at least fifty percent genuine, “it’s just, you looked so angry…” and then a look of horror replaces that of amusement. “Wait, he… I mean, he didn’t do anything—”

“No!” says Keith, in a louder voice than necessary, and he looks about himself self-consciously before continuing. “He just asked.”

“And?”

“And?”

“Well, what did you say?”

“I said no!” Keith huffed. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Yes, obviously,” Keith narrows his eyes at the man opposite him, who is wearing a worryingly neutral expression. “Shiro…”

Shiro shrugs. “Well, I mean, he is good-looking. And maybe it’d be good for you—”

“Good for me? He’s a total stranger _._ ”

“Okay, so, get to know him, then. Ask him on a date.”

“I’m—I’m not interested.”

“Right, so. He asks you, you’re not interested, you say no. That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“So then… why are you so annoyed?”

“ _I don’t know_ ,” Keith whines into his lasagna, and Shiro reaches over the table to pat him on the shoulder.

“You’ll work it out,” he says, soothingly, but for once it doesn’t make him feel any better.

***

The next morning begins much the same as any other. Keith wakes up early, pulls on a fresh shirt and trudges out of the Hades cabin with his typical apathetic expression already perfectly in place. The illusion of normality is quickly shattered when he spots Pidge with the other Hephaestus kids already on her way to breakfast, and the memories of the day before come rushing back at full force. _Traitor,_ he thinks, furious, as he begins to jog toward them.

“So, if we take Daedalus’ plans as a framework—” he hears her say, but she’s cut off by him yelling her name. “Keith?” she says, confused, turning towards him as he barrels towards her. Her eyes widen as she takes in his thunderous expression.

“Pidge, you _asshole,_ ” he yells, and he can see the moment of realisation on her face before she turns and starts to run away. The other Hephaestus kids look on in horror as he gives chase but don’t bother to intervene.

“I’m not sorry!” she shouts as they run, skirting around the edge of the mess hall, “I told him the truth!”

“ _I don’t want to sleep with Lance!_ ” he roars back.

She’s fast, but Keith is faster, and he’s starting to gain on her when she spots someone coming up the track from the forest. “Hunk!” she cries, “Hunk, Hunk! Save me!” and she slams into him, hiding behind him as Keith approaches.

The basket Hunk is carrying sways precariously in his grip. “Hey, watch it,” he says, mildly. “These are chanterelles. It took me ages to grow these. They make a great steak sauce—oh, hey, Keith.”

“Hunk,” growls Keith.

“You like him, you know you do,” says Pidge, her voice muffled by Hunk’s back.

“I don’t know him! I have never talked to him, ever!”

“Yeah, but I see you staring at him after sword practice—”

“That was one time!”

“O-okay,” says Hunk, “what’s going on here? And can we discuss on the way to breakfast? Please? I’m starving.”

“Only if he promises not to sic a hellhound on me,” she mutters petulantly.

“Keith?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, I promise,” Pidge emerges into the open. “But I’m still pissed at you.”

Pidge sniffs and pushes up her glasses. “I don’t see why. It’s you who ruined things by saying no. I set it all up perfectly.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but is interrupted by a forceful shove from Hunk. “Walk and talk,” he instructs. “And explain, please.”

They begin to trudge back up the path. “Lance asked me if Keith was single, and I said yes. See? I just told the truth. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You also told him I was interested in him, which is a lie—”

“Is it?” Pidge jogs ahead a little so she turn can jab him in the chest for emphasis. “Is it a lie, Keith?”

“What, so… Lance asked you out?” Hunk says before Keith can respond, giving him a playful shove. “Woah, finally. Way to go, buddy. Good work, Pidge.”

“Okay, first of all,” Keith says, hotly, “he didn’t ask me out. He asked me to sleep with him. Which is different. Secondly, I said no, obviously, because _I am not interested in having sex with someone I hardly know—_ ”

“Wait, what?” Pidge sounds confused. “Sex? No, he was supposed to ask you on a date. Are you sure?”

“What do you mean, am I sure? He started talking about portable heaters and Lance-Lance revolution and blankets and—”

She groans. “That _idiot_.”

They come to a stop in front of the dining pavilion. “All I’m getting from this,” says Hunk, “is that you rejected Lance totally, which is stupid, because you two have been making lovey-dovey eyes at each other for like, a year. And I mean, it’s Lance, yes he’s kind of obnoxious but have you _seen him_? I’m straight, but pretty much any of the Aphrodite kids… seriously. If you didn’t want to sleep with him you could’ve asked him on a date instead.”

“Shut up,” snaps Keith, “don’t you have some vegetables to go serenade or something?”

“Ooh, cranky. I don’t sing to vegetables, I grow them. And then I eat them. Speaking of…” Hunk clasps his hands together and looks at them pleadingly. “Breakfast? Please?”

Pidge shakes her head. “This whole situation is ridiculous. Both of you are ridiculous.”

“Hey!”

“Not you, Hunk. Keith and Lance.” She frowns and leans closer to Keith. “Get your act together,” she hisses at him, and then she turns on her heel and leaves.

“Breakfast,” says Hunk, giving him an apologetic smile before making a beeline to the Demeter table.

Keith just stands there and stares after them, feeling very much out of his depth. _Lovey-dovey eyes?_ Hunk should stick to salads. It’d be stupid to pretend that he hadn’t noticed Lance was attractive until yesterday, but still, he doesn’t feel like there’s some sort of special connection between them. Pidge’s meddling is totally unnecessary.

Still, he can’t help but slide his gaze toward the cabin 10 table, which is only half full; Aphrodite kids tend to be late risers. He doesn’t see the head of familiar brown hair, and he subconsciously relaxes, relieved.

Before he can make his way to his own table—where Shiro is seated, talking to Allura, who sneaks away from the other Athena kids regularly— someone taps him on the shoulder.

“Uh, hey,” says Lance, as Keith turns around—and, oh gods, it’s Lance. He swallows down his panic. “Listen, I just wanted to, uh, apologise. For yesterday? I came on kind of strong.”

“Kind of,” murmurs Keith. Lance is wearing the orange camp t-shirt, which looks bad on everyone but somehow looks great on him, and he’s managing to make looking sheepish into an art-form. His left arm is raised so that he can scratch his neck, and the sleeve has ridden down to reveal the curve of his bicep. Lance isn’t as muscled as Keith is after years of swinging swords and punching things as stress-relief, but he’s lean and lithe in a way that seems designed to draw the eye.

“Yeah, well, I made you uncomfortable, I realise that, and that’s not cool. I dunno, I can’t help it, I thought being direct would be fine. I mean that’s how I normally am and that works, right?” he laughs self-consciously, and Keith watches the curve of his throat as it moves. “But I thought about it, and maybe I misunderstood how you felt, and I get it if you want me to keep my distance— although, uh… now I kinda feel like… you don’t want me to…” he pauses for a second, confused. “Uh, Keith?”

Keith drags his gaze away from the line of his jaw. “Y…huh?”

Lance’s eyes sweep the room quickly, and Keith becomes painfully aware that they are standing right at the entrance of the mess hall and everyone can see (and hear) them talking. His ears turn pink in embarrassment, a colour which then spreads quickly to the rest of his face as Lance grabs his arm and drags him around and out of sight, behind one of the massive marble pillars. Lance is only a little taller than him, but Keith is now pressed against the stone, and with the other boy looming over him the height difference seems much greater.

He leans towards him and Keith freezes, but Lance just goes to whisper to him, his lips graze the shell of his ear. “I told you already,” he says, his tone low and intimate, “I can sense attraction. I’m getting some… mixed signals from you.”

Lance has bracketed his arms around him against the pillar, but they’re raised high enough that it would be easy enough for Keith to duck under them and leave. Considering this, there’s really no excuse for what he does next, which is tilt his head up and to the side to meet his gaze. Lance’s eyes are dark and half-lidded, and Keith is surprised to see that he looks as flustered as he is, lips parted and flushed. Neither of them move for several achingly long seconds, their lips dangerously close, breathing in tandem. Keith can feel his heart thudding against his chest. The sounds of others eating float past them.

Okay, so, maybe it’s the time to admit that he’s attracted to Lance. _Still,_ he reasons in his head, _I don’t want to sleep with him. Imagine the awkwardness the next day. Imagine him trying to avoid you afterwards. Imagine—he smells fucking amazing—is that cinnamon? Oh, gods._ One of Lance’s hands slides down from its position on the pillar and presses against his waist, and Keith arcs reflexively into the touch. He hears a sharp intake of breath, and then Lance moves his head down, his mouth skimming slowly over his neck, only just above the surface of his skin. Keith feels the warmth of his breath against a sensitive spot and he whimpers, tilting his head further to give him easier access, Lance’s grip on his waist tightening in response.

 _Would it really be that bad?_ he thinks, hazily, as one of his own hands lifts to twist itself in the fabric of Lance’s shirt to pull him closer. The other boy mumbles a curse in Spanish, and his hand loosens from Keith’s waist and begins to slide down his back. But then Lance lifts his head away from his neck, moving to kiss him, and the sudden loss of heat against the skin plunges Keith into clarity. Unbidden, a memory returns: seeing Lance, as so many other people have done, in this same position with a daughter of Hermes on an evening months ago. Keith doesn’t judge those in the Aphrodite cabin for what they do in their spare time, it’s none of his business, but the concept of being another in a list of brief flings sends a spark of revulsion through him.

His grip on Lance’s shirt loosens. “Get off me,” he snaps, rattled.

The other boy lets him go immediately, taking a step back, and his expression is one of such genuine concern that Keith almost feels bad for the harsh tone.

“I’m sorry, I thought…” Lance says, biting his lip, “Gods. I keep messing this up.” He kicks the ground, sending a dead leaf into the air.

“No, it’s…” and now Keith does feel guilty. He sighs. “Look, I… I’m sorry, too, I get that this is confusing."

“I mean, I’m the one who can’t take a hint,” Lance responds, and although it’s supposed to be light-hearted his cheerful tone sounds forced. “I know how annoying I can be. You appreciating my godlike good-looks doesn’t mean you’ll suddenly like me as a person.”

“You’re not… Well. Theoretical godlike good-looks aside—” Lance seems about ready to argue with him at that, but Keith continues regardless— “I’m not really interested in casual sex. Sorry.”

That seems to confuse Lance, and he does that combination frown-and-pout again. “What?”

“I’m just not that sort of person, I guess,” Keith says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound strained, “but there are plenty of other people around, though, right?”

“Right…” Lance’s brow furrows. They stare at each other for a minute or so, and then suddenly his expression shifts into one of realisation. “ _Ohhh,_ ” he says, “Oh, I get it.”

“You get what?” asks Keith, confused by the sudden shift in mood.

“So you actually—hm.”

“I actually what? Lance?”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Lance. He’s smiling now, his eyes sparkling in the morning sun. “I understand now!”

“Understand _what?_ Lance? _”_

Lance just gives him an excited double thumbs-up. He begins to walk away from him, backwards so he can still face Keith, and then he has to turn around after he nearly bumps into Coran and spills an entire tray of breakfast burritos. The satyr yells “watch it!”, moustache bristling, but Lance is already jogging away.

“Just you wait, _hermoso_ ,” he yells over his shoulder, “just you wait!”

“Please don’t!” Keith shouts back, futilely. He doesn’t even know what he’s telling Lance not to do, he just has a strong feeling that he doesn’t want him to do it.

“That boy is going to kill me someday,” mutters Coran, as he passes him.

Keith sighs. “Me too,” he says, watching Lance’s retreat into the mess hall. He can still feel the phantom heat of his hand against his side. “Me too.”

***

Keith spends the rest of the day feeling like a sniper rifle is pointed at him, but nothing unusual happens, Lance-related or otherwise. Hunk gets vertigo on the climbing wall again, although he’s mostly playing it up so Shay has to be dragged out of the sick bay to come heal him for the fourth time in a week. Pidge drops her glasses into the lake during while canoeing and has an identity crisis, despite the 8 extra pairs she keeps in her cabin. The Hermes kids prank Coran for the fifth time this week by gluing feathers to his moustache while he naps, and he spends the rest of the day sneezing convulsively.

Lance doesn’t approach him. At all. Yes, Keith had kind of told him to leave him alone, but then Lance had acted all weird and excited, and that made him think that maybe the son of Aphrodite hadn’t gotten the message and was going to grab him mid-conversation and make out with him against a wall, or _something,_ but no. Nothing. Not that he’s disappointed about that, obviously, but still. Nothing at all.

In the evening Shiro is narrating some genius battle stratagem that Allura has thought up while Keith tucks into his egg fried rice, and he gets that prickling sensation like he’s being watched. But when he raises his gaze to the cabin 10 table Lance is nodding intently at something another girl is saying, sipping at a shockingly bright-coloured soda through a straw.

“So, even they’re thinking of keeping her on in more of a mentor capacity, kind of like me—Keith?”

“What,” he responds sharply, as across the pavilion Lance pushes away his plate and stretches his arms above his head, smiling at the person across from him at the table.

“You’re sulking about Lance,” says Shiro. “Are you going to be like this all week? Maybe you should talk to him.”

“I did talk to him.” He remembers Lance’s hand sliding down his back, centimetres away from the waistband of his jeans. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you say?”

“That I wasn’t interested in casual sex.”

“And what did he say?”

“I’m…” he frowns, “I’m not sure. He got really excited, and said he understood, and then he started running away like an idiot and calling me _hermoso._ What does that even mean?”

Shiro smiles indulgently. “Awwww.”

“W-what? No. Not aww.”

“You’re blushing.”

He can feel his cheeks burning. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m—ugh,” Keith puts his head in his hands. “This is stupid. This is all so stupid. It’s not like he’s bothered about it at all. He’s probably forgotten I exist.”

“Ask him. On a. Date,” says Shiro, punctuating each of the pauses by flicking his fork in the air.

““I—he—he doesn’t want that.”

“ _Ask him. On a. Date_.”

“ _No._ ” Keith scowls and snatches for the fork, which leads them to a sort of awkward tussle over the table. After Keith makes a particularly impassioned grab for it, Shiro snaps his arm back and accidentally sends it soaring through the air. They both watch in horror as it lands with a metallic clunk inside the brazier in the middle of the room and is quickly obscured by flames.

“Well, fuck,” says Keith, scanning the room to see if anyone had noticed, but the tables all seem absorbed in their own conversations.

Shiro wipes away an invisible tear. “Goodnight, sweet fork.”

Keith sniggers. “Shhhhh.”

But then Shiro starts humming the funeral march. “S-stop,” Keith says, laughing now, and Shiro joins in, and soon they’re hunched over the table trying to remember how to breathe.

By the time dinner is over Keith’s mood is significantly lighter, enough so that when Pidge comes up and asks them if they’re going to head to the beach with the others he shrugs and says “why not,” which earns him a startled-but-proud look from Shiro. Allura and Hunk join them on the walk down, and the son of Demeter shoves a basket of cranberry cookies in their faces.

“Shouldn’t we wait until we’re at the beach?” asks Allura, but Pidge is already moaning through a mouthful of crumbs and pawing at Hunk for more like an overexcited puppy. The night is pleasantly cool and damp, and Keith feels a buzz of contentment as he slowly nibbles on the edge of his cookie. Pidge and Hunk start bickering about the proper distribution of the remaining cookies, and by the time they reach the sand they have somehow managed to finish the rest between them, despite Shiro’s protests that they’ll make themselves sick. There’s a large bonfire being built by some Athena kids a little way off, arguing in the dim light about the correct architecture of the base logs for optimum fire-starting capability. The sky is being reflected with perfect clarity in the water, and it makes it look like the whole beach is surrounded by a field of stars.

Allura was prescient enough to bring blankets and they huddle an appropriate distance from the soon-to-be-bonfire as the beach fills up. Keith lies down and curls his fingers in the sand, closing his eyes and letting the conversation wash over him. As the fire finally begins to build itself up he slips into a light doze, only vaguely aware of the voices of the others. Several minutes pass, Keith feeling calmer than he has in weeks.

“… And then Shay…”

“… Allura, could you pass…”

“… So then… oh, hey, Lance.”

Keith snaps back to reality immediately, his muscles tensing. His eyes are still closed and he listens intently to see if he was imagining things, but no, that is Lance’s voice filling the space as he chats to the others.

“I brought some s’mores supplies, if you want them—”

“Gods, Lance, you _angel_ ,” Hunk says, half yelling.

Allura shushes him. “Don’t wake up Keith.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“If he wants to sleep, he should do it in his cabin, instead of the ground,” grumbles Pidge, poking him in the side.

Keith raises an arm to swat at her. “I’m awake, leave me alone,” he mumbles, dragging his eyelids open. There’s a disorienting moment where all he can see is the vast blackness of the sky, and then he pulls himself up to face the others and the dizziness fades. Lance is crouching directly opposite him, wearing an expression of faint alarm, a sandwich bag full of graham crackers and marshmallows dangling from his right hand.

“Hey,” says Lance.

“Hey,” says Keith.

There are several loaded seconds where everyone looks back and forth between the two of them before Hunk clears his throat in the way he often does when he feels awkward. “So, s’mores? S’mores anyone? I’m gonna go make some s’mores.” He grabs the bag from Lance’s grip and stands up.

“Yes, excellent idea, Hunk,” says Allura, rising gracefully, and then Pidge and Shiro are standing up too and babbling about finding chocolate and they all dart away towards the bonfire, so suddenly it’s just Keith with sandy hair sticking out in fifty different directions and Lance looking at him like a startled baby deer.

“They, uh, really wanted s’mores,” says Lance, his voice uncharacteristically nervous.

“Yeah.” Keith tries to make his expression neutral, but he looks vaguely pissed-off all the time anyway, so chances of success are slim to none. He notices Lance surreptitiously trying to check the time on the slim watch on his wrist. He doesn’t remember him wearing a watch earlier, when his arms were around him—and he’s not going to think about that. “Are you late for something?”

“What? Oh, no.” He checks the watch again and then glances briefly at the sky. “Actually, I came to—uh. Do you want to go for a walk?”

“A walk?” says Keith, incredulously.

“Yeah. A walk.”

“As in… _just_ a walk?”

“Yes!” Lance quickly looks panicked. “Yes, yes, yeah! Just a walk. Nothing… no… no _funny business_. I promise. I just want to talk to you. I just—please, Keith? Please?”

Somewhere at the back of his mind, Keith probably has a rational voice telling him that this is a bad idea, but maybe Lance is cheating and using his powers because he’s finding it incredibly difficult to say no to the wide-eyed pout the son of Aphrodite is giving him. He throws up his hands in the air. “Fine,” he says, and points menacingly at him. “No funny business.”

“None, I swear,” says Lance, trying and failing not to look smug. He gets up and offers Keith a hand, which is promptly ignored. The moment Keith is also stood he sets off at a fast pace.

The boy has legs like a giraffe, and Keith has to resort to a half-jog to keep up with him. Lance is full of nervous energy; as they move he spins his gaze between him, his watch and the sky so continuously that Keith himself starts to feel dizzy.

After nearly a minute of silence, the sounds of the bonfire fading as it grows increasingly distant behind them, Keith starts to feel impatient. “I thought you wanted to talk?” he huffs.

“Uh, yeah, I do. I just need to…” Lance looks at the sky again, and then his watch. “… Find a good spot.”

“A good spot… for talking?”

“Yep!” he says, cheerfully, although there’s still a hint of nervousness in his tone. “You know me, I’m a perfectionist, it’s my biggest flaw, really, my standards are just too high—which is why you should be flattered, really, that you measure up to—”

“You’re babbling.” Keith crosses his arms. “What’s going on, Lance?”

Lance pauses in his inspection of a large, flat rock. He smacks it with his hand. “This is perfect. Lie on here.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell— wait, lie? You want me to lie down on the—”

“It’s not a sex thing, I promise.”

“I don’t believe you,” Keith hisses.

“I mean it can be, if you want to—wait, no. No. You’ll see.”

“Lance—”

“Keith.” Lance tries to look threatening and fails spectacularly. “Lie on the rock.”

“I’m not going to lie on the rock!”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you—” Keith wonders how long this will go on for, but then Lance looks at his watch mid-yell and bites his lip. He looks at Keith, at the rock, then at the sky, and with a melodramatic sigh he lies down on it himself, shifting to the right so there’s room for two people. “See? It’s comfy.”

“It doesn’t look comfy.”

“Keith,” says Lance, his voice is nearing desperation, “ _please._ ”

Keith is still scowling, but reluctantly he shrugs off his jacket and uses it as a pillow as he lies down beside him. The rock isn’t comfy, but he can feel a faint warmth from where their arms press together and the air smells pleasantly of salt. The sky stretches endlessly above them.

“I’ve only got, like, a minute to say all this,” begins Lance, looking at the stars instead of him. “So just let me say it, okay?”

“What do you mean, a minute—”

Lance shoves him a little to shut him up. “Shhh.”

“Fine.”

“Keith,” he starts, again. Keith knows he should be looking away, too, to make it easier for Lance to speak, but it’s difficult when his profile is glowing with moonlight as if he’s been cast in marble. “You’re fucking terrifying.”

That was unexpected. “Uh—”

“No, seriously, Keith, do you know how scary you are? As in, I mean, okay, the whole necromancy super-evil-death powers thing, maybe a bit intimidating, but what’s really just—what really gets to me is how you’re so… unimpressed. All the time, you know? I’m not used to that. So when I came up to you yesterday, I kind of panicked. Because I’d been waiting to ask you out for ages—”

“Ages?”

“—And suddenly, you got all hot under the collar at sword practice, and I thought, hey, this might actually work. But then I was actually having a proper conversation with you, face to face, and you were all like, ‘I don’t want to make friends’, and then I thought, well, gods, why would he ever want to hang out with you in a romantic way, if he can’t stand you even during a normal conversation? Right? That’s a normal thing to think. So I should’ve just walked away. But you were doing that cute grumpy face, and I freaked out, and suddenly I was just doing what I normally do and screwing things up, making it sound like all I want is to sleep with you. Don’t get me wrong, that’d be great, but, I actually think I like you. A lot? I think I like you a lot. I know you don’t want something casual, but... well, I don’t either.”

Keith feels like he’s about to float off the rock, he’s so surprised and confused and… happy? He’s _happy_ , and then suddenly he has a thousand things to say and no idea how to say them. “Lance,” he starts, but the other boy doesn’t even pause to take a breath.

“I know it’s all kinda hard to believe, because I haven’t really dated anyone for any serious amount of time, but I’ve had this stupid crush for what, years now? So I figure that maybe this could be something I could actually take seriously, for once. But then I finally work up the courage to talk to you properly and I mess up.”

Keith feels warmth blossom in his stomach. He runs his gaze along the planes of Lance’s nose, his cheeks, his collarbones. He’s probably smiling like an absolute idiot, but he can’t bring himself to care, can’t believe that he didn’t realise how much he wanted this until it actually _happened_.

“So this is me trying again, I guess,” says Lance, “to, well, to ask you to go out with me. On a date. Or even be my boyfriend, if you’re cool with that—that’s too fast, right—I mean I would be cool—we can figure that out later—obviously after we’ve gone on a date and you’ve fallen in love with me—”

“Okay,” says Keith, rushing to get it out before Lance can keep talking. It’s breathless and he should be embarrassed about his eagerness but it’s like all of the weight of the last two days has been lifted from his chest.

“O-okay?” Lance looks so astonished that Keith almost wants to laugh.

“I’ll go on a date with you.” He frowns. “The other stuff… I guess… we’ll see?”

“W-what? No, you have to say no.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well,” and now Lance turns to look at him. Their noses nearly touch. “I thought you’d say no. You have to let me convince you.”

Keith’s gaze falls to his lips. “Convince me, then,” he murmurs in what he hopes is an inviting tone, and then he sighs audibly in disappointment as Lance turns away from him back to face upwards.

“Perfect timing,” says Lance, pleased. “Look.”

Frowning, Keith turns to watch the sky. It’s beautiful, if familiar. At a glance, Keith can pick out the cluster of the Pleiades above them, startlingly clear without the pollution of the city.

“Stargazing?” he asks, amused.

“Just look.”

Keith looks, and wonders if he’s missing something—but then, as he’s about to turn to Lance again, he spots a streak of light, brief and bright like someone was striking a matchstick against the sky. He wonders if he’s imagining things, but then, nearly a minute later, there’s another. He nearly falls off the rock in shock. “Lance—what? There isn’t supposed to be a—How—”

Lance’s answering grin is so genuine it almost hurts to look at it. “I asked my mom for a favour.”

“You asked _Aphrodite_ for a _meteor shower_?”

“Yep. It wasn’t that big of a deal, she likes doing stuff like this, romantic gestures and all, and, well… You were reading that astronomy book, so I thought… Do you like it?”

Keith really can’t think of anything to say, so he waits for another meteor to tear its way through the sky before swinging his leg over Lance so that he’s straddling him. He takes a moment to catalogue every dip and shadow in his face that he can make out in the dim light before he leans down and presses their lips together.

The kiss is soft and a little awkward and, honestly, it’s one of the most perfect moments in Keith’s life so far. Lance tastes vaguely like marshmallows but mostly just like himself, and when he winds his fingers in the back of Keith’s hair and sighs into his mouth Keith wants to permanently brand the sound onto his hippocampus. He pushes his hands under Lance’s shirt and the other boy shivers from the chill. “Sorry,” he mumbles against his lips, but instead of responding Lance just presses harder against him.

They stay like that for an indeterminate amount of time, exploring each other, until eventually Keith moves his head down to mouth at Lance’s jaw. Lance hums in pleasure. “You’re going to miss the meteor shower,” he murmurs, not sounding particularly worried about that at all.

“This’ll last for hours, Lance,” says Keith into his neck, scraping his teeth lightly against the skin. “We’ve got all night.”

Lance squirms. “Oh, really?” he asks. “We should keep going, then.” He pulls Keith back down towards him, and they’re both smiling as they kiss again, accompanied by the i metronome of the waves hitting the shore.

Above them, another trail of light streaks across the sky.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know that meteor showers don't just start suddenly but hey 
> 
> I kept thinking about how much Keith reminds me of Nico and this was the result. (Lance also kind of reminds me of Leo and I ship Valdangelo so maybe this was always inevitable. On that note: please ship Valdangelo it is so good and pure)


End file.
